


But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day

by lesyeuxverts



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:18:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lesyeuxverts/pseuds/lesyeuxverts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James goes to All Saints’ mass. Robbie follows him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But lo! there breaks a yet more glorious day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the lewis_challenge fright fest. The quote is from Emily Bronte. The hymn (also quoted in the title) is “For All the Saints” by William Walsham How.

The church is dark. Somehow Robbie didn’t expect that, and he slouches in, sits in the last pew, and stretches his legs out until they hit the hymnal in the rack in front of him.  
  
James is here, somewhere, but then he’s never followed James to church before. Robbie would like to think that he could find him even in the dark and through the haze of incense lingering in the sanctuary. He’d like to think that he could find James anywhere, be drawn to him like iron nails to a lodestone. How many angels dance on the head of a nail?  
  
The shadow of the cross lies over the sanctuary, stark lines unwavering in the flickering candlelight.  
  
Robbie moves when needed, standing on stiff legs and bowing his head to be respectful. He mumbles along when it’s time to make a confession. He listens to the litany of the dead.  
  
The nights are lengthening, the dark drawing in – summer stole another hour and it’s full dark now, though it feels too early for it. The wan light of street lights shines in through the stained glass window, angels etched in silver and gold shining haloed, paler than the light of day.  
  
Starting to stand, Robbie hesitates when the people in the pew of him head up toward the altar. He hangs back, slumps back down into his seat. His suit is creased from a long day and he feels like it – wrinkled, old, tired beyond renewal. He watches James at the altar rail, his hands outstretched to receive the wafer and his head tilting to receive the wine. In the soft lighting, he looks unworldly, ethereal.  
  
He crosses himself before he stands, his hand flickering quickly from head to heart, shoulder to shoulder.  
  
It had been a good day, Robbie thought. A morning where James brought him coffee and a croissant, tossed out a witty quote – “ _sic transit gloria mundi_ ” – gave him a wry smile instead of an explanation. The night before – Halloween’d been blessedly trouble-free, and they’d been free to spend hours in front of the telly, with a bottle of wine, takeaway boxes of curry and foil-wrapped packets of naan the only casualties.  
  
If Robbie had felt his heart skip a beat when their hands brushed on the sofa – well, that was another kind of freedom, a freedom he hasn’t felt in years.  
  
Now, Robbie watches him, sees a stranger bending in the shadows and genuflecting. An obligation, James had said, and Robbie thought he’d meant only a reason to stay away. He’d followed him, found him here.  
  
He wonders if he should’ve come.  
  
James had talked about the veil between worlds, the infinite and the finite, the cross between them. As quick as quicksilver, he’d been. He’d leaned in close, almost close enough to touch Robbie, and spoken soft words, each one falling into the silence after the one that came before, each one swallowed up like the one before.  
  
“ _I’ve dreamt in my life dreams that have stayed with me ever after_ ,” he said, “ _and changed my ideas; they’ve gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the colour of my mind._ ”  
  
They’d been close enough to touch, yet still able to turn away. Robbie hadn’t known what to say, had looked at James and let his looking speak volumes. He’d had dreams, and thought he knew what James meant. He’d hoped. Now he clenches his hands into fists, fingernails digging into his flesh, and presses his fists against the hard wood of the pew, feeling helpless.  He wishes he’d had the words. He watches James turn from the altar and take his place again – towards the front of the church, far from him.  
  
Perhaps he simply hadn’t seen Robbie, lurking back in the shadows near the rear of the church. Perhaps he’d seen him, and not wanted to join him. This was an obligation, he’d said, and Robbie’s not sure he understands.  
  
There’s a rustle of hymnals, and the choir starts – Robbie joins in, singing low enough that his voice is masked by all the others.  
  
“ _Thou wast their Rock, their Fortress and their Might;_  
 _Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well fought fight;_  
 _Thou, in the darkness drear, their one true Light._  
 _Alleluia, Alleluia!_ ”  
  
With prayers and litanies and incense, the service draws to a close – another year, another remembrance of the dead, the saints and martyrs, the faithful departed. In a still soft place, Robbie sometimes still grieves, still aches – but not today. He’s bitten his nails to the quick, wondering if he should’ve come.  
  
He stands and waits, wondering if this takes more bravery than the action, if waiting is always the hardest part. He doesn’t wait long – James doesn’t linger. He’s coming down the length of the church, wrapped in a dark warm coat, his fair hair haloed in the candlelight. _Like an angel_ , Robbie thinks irreverently.  
  
James sees Robbie, stops. “You didn’t have to come,” he says, his voice soft. “This was my obligation.” He’s leaning in, quiet, not disturbing the other church-goers.  
  
“I know,” Robbie says, which is not the same thing as admitting that he feels that he shouldn’t be there. “I wanted to come,” he says, which is not to say that he understands why.  
  
“Thank you,” James says, leaning closer, his breath warm on Robbie’s neck. He looks light, now, even in the darkness, as soft and free as a feather on an angel’s wing. Looking at him, Robbie thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to understand. He reaches out and brushes a speck off James’s shoulder – wanting only to touch him, wanting to linger.  
  
The moment lasts, stretched out between them like something fine and precious – like sheets of silver hammered to infinite thinness but still malleable rather than fragile. The candles flicker, the altar is dark, the last of the church-goers are leaving. The smell of the incense is fading.  
  
He’s about to move away when James smiles at him, takes his hand. Tonight of all nights, this should have felt like an ending, but Robbie’s pulse is thudding, his heart beating too fast. The brush of skin against skin is soft, and James’s hand is cool clasping his. Even on All Souls, it is not an ending. It feels like a beginning, and Robbie holds his breath, takes a new deep breath, and lets James lead him through the shadowed archway and out of the church, into the night that is waiting for them.


End file.
